


The Spire

by skatzaa



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Jedi Temple (Star Wars), Obi-Wan Kenobi-centric, Original Omwati Character, Post-Star Wars: Attack of the Clones, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-07-09 16:00:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19890496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatzaa/pseuds/skatzaa
Summary: The galaxy was on the brink of war, and Obi-Wan Kenobi had been assigned a new room.





	The Spire

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hello! This was inspired by the awesome "Star Wars Complete Locations" book; I checked it out of my library and promptly became obsessed with the sections about the Temple. This is also the first time I've written an OC that I've invested more than thirty seconds of thought in; more info on zir at the bottom.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Obi-Wan stared at the measly collection of belongings before him and pursed his lips. Thirty-five years of live, nearly all of those spent here in the Temple, and all it took to pack it away was two crates he had requisitioned from the quartermaster.

He didn’t like the thought of moving. Qui-Gon, when he had been alive, had held with the uncommon—though not unheard of—practice of master and padawan sharing quarters, which generally involved two rooms joined by a common area meant primarily for meditation. After Qui-Gon died, Obi-Wan had been too heart-sick with grief, and too busy ensuring his new padawan would not die of something as common as bantha flu, to even consider moving. 

Additionally, he had reasoned, it wouldn’t do Anakin any good to be cut off from his one connection at the Temple so soon after leaving his mother. So they’d stayed, Obi-Wan in the room that had always been his and Anakin in what had once been Qui-Gon’s, because Obi-Wan hadn’t the heart to take the room meant for the Master.

Of course, upon his knighting a mere two weeks ago, Anakin had quietly packed up his own belongings—or, as quietly as Anakin could manage, which meant it had involved a great deal of cursing and complaining—and moved into one of the smaller apartments designated for new knights. Obi-Wan had yet to see it, and only knew it was somewhere near the Council of Reconciliation’s tower; in fact, he hadn’t seen his former  _ padawan  _ since Anakin moved out.

It was disconcerting to enter the apartment and not hear the clink of tools as Anakin fiddled with his latest saber hilt  _ just a little bit more, I’m almost done _ , no matter how often Obi-Wan cautioned him to let it be. He no longer had to watch for spare droid parts underfoot when he rose to meditate each morning. There was no need to remind his padawan to clean his room, because he no longer  _ had _ a padawan, and Anakin’s room was already entirely bare.

The silence was maddening in a way Obi-Wan hadn’t expected, but it mattered not. Obi-Wan himself, after as many delays as he could reasonably fabricate, finally needed to move as well.

He sighed. These rooms had been his home for twenty-two years, a place to which he always returned no matter the obstacles in his way. Even after he had cleared away Qui-Gon’s things, and the plants had been relocated or gifted to those more botanically inclined than himself, and the faint traces of his master’s presence had faded in the Force, this had been Qui-Gon’s home, and therefore Obi-Wan’s. The addition of Anakin had helped in the immediate aftermath of Naboo, but now, for the first time in his entire life, he was alone.

And wasting time in an empty room.

_ Attachment is unbefitting a Jedi Master _ , Obi-Wan reminded himself, before stacking one crate on top of the other and picking both up.

The apartment’s door closed quietly behind him, with none of the finality Obi-Wan had half-expected. There was nothing else for it; he set his shoulders and began the pilgrimage to his new room.

The solemnity of his one-man procession lasted for approximately forty-five seconds, at which point Obi-Wan was pulled out of his maudlin thoughts by Cin Drallig, who wanted to coordinate a Soresu demonstration for his newest class of advanced initiates.

After that, it seemed as if a dam had broken. Obi-Wan found himself acknowledged by everyone he passed, and he them in return, either with a nod or a few soft words. The walk to his new quarters, thankfully, was not long, though it involved a turbolift ride and was in the opposite direction of where he would be spending most of his time when on-planet, now that he was sans padawan and all the responsibilities that came with it.

One-Wan dropped his head as soon as the corridor—one of the lesser used ones, or so he had thought—was clear, hoping that appearing engrossed in one item or another would keep him from needing to be social. It worked, too, carrying him down the corridor and all the way through the turbolift doors.

He pressed the button for the correct floor and waited, head still down. When he heard the click of talons on the duracrete floors, he resisted the urge to sigh, instead bringing up one knee to balance the crate on, so that he could press the button that would hold the doors open until the newcomer was on board. He might be feeling a bit unsocial, but that wasn’t an excuse to be  _ rude. _

The other being entered the lift and Obi-Wan released the button. He glanced up—and blinked.

“Master Zhasei,” he said, surprised, as the other master pressed another button, this one for several floors below Obi-Wan’s destination. “I didn’t realize you were still on Coruscant.”

That was an understatement: Obi-Wan hadn’t known ze was still alive, hadn’t even  _ thought _ about zir in more than twenty years, and yet here ze was, looking just the same as Obi-Wan remembered, despite zir age. The Omwati Master’s feathers still shone iridescent in the turbolift’s bright lights, green at Zhasei’s temples and purple at the featherline behind zir ears. The rest of zir feathers were gray, but they had always been that color, and zir skin was the same muted blue it had been.

“Obi-Wan,” ze trilled, pointed ears flicking up in pleasure. “It is wonderful to see you again.”

“You as well, Master,” Obi-Wan said, dipping his chin respectfully.

Zhasei cocked zir head to one side, a regrettably bird-like action, though Obi-Wan presumed the similarity was somewhat unavoidable.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” ze said. Obi-Wan eyed zir warily, unsure what the Temple gossip was now saying about him, but Zhasei only gave a sharp grin and continued, “You raised a padawan to knighthood in less than a decade; a formidable achievement for any master, let alone one so young. You must be very proud of him.”

“I am,” Obi-Wan conceded with a self-deprecating smile. The tension went out of his shoulders. He hadn’t felt himself tense in the first place. “Though Anakin certainly kept me on my toes. I hope I never gave Qui-Gon that much trouble.”

He knew he had, in different ways than Anakin. Still, he worried about Anakin and whether he was ready to be on his own, especially with the galaxy on the brink of war. But the Order would need all the knights it could get, and Anakin had been one of the most accomplished senior padawans of his cohort.

Perhaps it was the role of all masters, Obi-Wan thought, to fear their padawan wasn’t truly ready.

Zhasei laughed, unaware of Obi-Wan’s musings. It was a deep, hearty sound that had Obi-Wan’s smile shifting into something more genuine. Ze said, “It is both the curse and blessing of raising any child, I’m afraid.”

Well, Master Zhasei would certainly know better than most. Obi-Wan could still remember, with perfect clarity, the horrible, humiliating experience of standing before the Council of Reassignment, and he recalled the kind smile of Master Zhasei as ze gently asked him which of the Corps he would prefer.

The Council of Reassignment saw initiates at their worst and lowest moments, and after, had to approach the next one with the same level of kindness and consideration as all the ones before. Obi-Wan could never do it, and not only because they’d had a hand in almost sending him away. He did not, he knew, have the pure, untainted Light within him that would allow him to answer such a calling honestly.

Not that he had the makings of a military general, either, but that wasn’t stopping the Republic from naming him one anyway.

The turbolift doors opened as they reached Obi-Wan’s floor. He bowed awkwardly, crates still in his arms, to Master Zhasei, expecting that to be the end of the conversation, and stepped out of the lift.

Zhasei followed, allowing the turbolift to move on to the next Jedi waiting for it.

Obi-Wan hesitated. The, as cordially as he could manage, he asked, “Is there anything else I can help you with, Master?”

Zhasei peered at him, short feathers looking a bit ruffled. 

“May I ask which residential sector you’re moving too?” ze asked.

Obi-Wan didn’t wince, but only with effort. He’d been dreading this, would have dreaded it from anyone, but particularly from _ this _ master.

“To the Spire sector,” he admitted with some reluctance.

Zhasei’s ears and feathers flared with surprise. 

“You’ve been asked to sit on the High Council.”

_ Asked _ was an understatement. Mace had stopped just short of outright begging, for which both he and Obi-Wan had been immensely grateful. After Geonosis, there were too many open Council seats and not enough Masters with the qualifications and inclination to fill those seats. Obi-Wan himself hardly qualified, but Mace had presented an excellent argument that Obi-Wan, in the end, could not refute.

“Yes,” he said, instead of attempting to articulate any of those thoughts.

Zhasei considered him for a moment. Then ze said, “Living in such close proximity to the Spire can be a heavy burden to bear.”

“Yes,” he said again, agreeing this time. He had spent some time in Mace’s room in the past, on those occasions he sought advice on how best to help a padawan so often filled with righteous rage, and it  _ had _ felt like a burden. One wall of Mace’s apartment was actually the rough, sloping side of the Spire itself, meaning that the length of the ceiling had been longer than that of the floor. The Force had been thick, as though it was radiating from the stone itself.

Not every member of the various councils chose to stay in the Spire sector. Yoda, he knew, slept in a little alcove off the Room of a Thousand Fountains, for a variety of reasons Yoda had not deigned to tell anyone in the past hundred years. Plo Koon  _ couldn’t  _ sleep in the Spire sector, as the rooms were very old and not able to be retrofitted for Plo’s breathing needs.

Zhasei zirself keep a small apartment closer to the Council of Reassignment, so initiates who were close to aging out could approach zir with questions and concerns. Obi-Wan had tried to visit Zhasei, once, about a month before his birthday, but he had reached the door to the apartment and felt the contentedness radiating from within as Zhasei and zir padawan meditated together. He’d turned right back around, a lump in his throat.

But, despite his misgivings, there was an empty room in the Spire sector, and an empty chair in the council chamber. Obi-Wan could fill both of those, leaving other rooms and roles open for those better suited to them.

Zhasei’s presence unfurled in the Force like a delicate flower, startling Obi-Wan out of his thoughts. As ze brushed against Obi-Wan’s presence, he sensed, for the briefest moment, burbling streams and the fuzz of a honeybee and warm, soothing sunlight curling around him like a blanket. Then Zhasei withdrew, folding back into zirself and smiling down at Obi-Wan.

“Do not fret, little one,” Zhasei said, an echo of the words ze had spoken to Obi-Wan at twelve years old. “Greatness lies on the path before you.”

“I wish not for greatness,” Obi-Wan replied.

“Ah,” Zhasei said, reaching out to lay a gray-taloned hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, “but that is what will make you great. I have no doubt your presence on the council will be of great help in the coming days.”

Not knowing how else to respond, Obi-Wan bowed as well as he could while still holding the crates, and said, “Thank you, Master.”

Zhasei withdrew zir hand and bowed in return.

Obi-Wan watched zir retreat back to the turbolift at an unhurried pace, then turned and continued on his own path. Mace had commed him earlier that morning with his new room number, and it took little effort to find it. The Spire sector was the smallest in the Temple, and the age of it meant that the rooms were numbered simply. 1-1. 1-2. 1-3.

He stopped before the door that read 1-12. There was no nameplate.

The door swung open—swung, not slid—and Obi-Wan froze in the doorway, shocked.

He had been prepared for a room like Mace’s, with the Spire acting as a wall. What he had not expected was  _ this. _

The most modern thing about the room was the swinging door and the light fixtures, drilled into the bedrock in four separate spots around the room. The walls, the ceiling, and the floor were all the same dark, rough-hewn rock, making the room feel like nothing less than a cavern.

This room— _ his _ room, now—was carved into the side of the Spire itself.

And the  _ Force. _

It settled heavy around his shoulders, pressed in close against his awareness. He could almost taste it in the back of his throat, drying and heady, like particularly expensive wine.

Obi-Wan had never felt anything like it. He felt the overwhelming urge to drop the crates and run far, far away from this place. 

He stood his ground, breathing deeply, trying to calm his racing heart.

_ Qui-Gon would have adored this place. _

He didn’t know where the thought came from, but had to admit the truth of it. He thought, wryly, as he placed the crates at the end of the bed, that it was too bad Qui-God had been too stubborn and too unorthodox to be appointed to the Council. They could’ve given him this room and then everyone would have been satisfied with the arrangement.

Instead, Obi-Wan was here.

He took off his outer robe, folded it, and placed it on the bed. There was a meditation mat centered on the far wall. Generally, he echoed Qui-Gon’s old habits and preferred to meditate in the sunlight; here, in the heart of the Temple, that wouldn’t be an option. Still, this mat would cushion his knees as well as any other.

Obi-Wan strode across the small room, knelt, and let himself sink into the Force. It hardly took a thought before he was surrounded.

This was his new reality: his padawan grown and knighted, his room a nexus in the Force, the threat of war looming over all their heads. He had better make peace with that, if he expected to move through the next months smoothly. There would be people relying on him, not least the troopers the Senate would no doubt thrust into his care as soon as they could make such a thing legal.

The galaxy—with the Jedi Order at its center, as always—was about to be plunged into chaos. He would need to keep his bearings. 

So he basked in the heady sensation of the Force, so close and sweet, and made peace.

**Author's Note:**

> There's not much canon info on the Omwati, which makes them prime material to worldbuild a bit! Some blogs on tumblr have already done some of that themselves; @rakiah in particular had some really interesting ideas. I decided to include the canon concept of there being an Omwati community on Coruscant; that's where Zhasei hails from.
> 
> I also realize that non-human sex and gender isn't likely to follow human standards, which is why Zhasei uses ze/zir pronouns. At the same time, I recognize that many trans and non-binary individuals have discussed the problems with making non-humans the only examples of alternate pronouns (Zhasei certainly isn't the only being in the GFFA to use different pronouns, but ze was the only one to do so in this fic). If anyone has any concerns or criticisms—or if I've messed up Zhasei's pronouns at all—please feel free to drop a comment here or a message to me on tumblr (I'm @skatzaa there too). I'm always looking to grow as a writer and a person!
> 
> Thanks for reading, comments and kudos are always appreciated.
> 
> Read on,  
> Skats


End file.
